


portrait of a self conquering

by bunot



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, M/M, Pro Volleyball Player Tsukishima Kei, but also canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24883981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunot/pseuds/bunot
Summary: Kei can instantly think of at least seventeen things he can do during a day with no car, a day with no Suna. But he also can't shake off the offer tugging at something inside him. This weird, abstract desire to attend to abandoned ghosts, to visit that concept of home he keeps denying of the luxury to miss.Tsukishima thinks he's finished with self-discovery until Suna pulls him back into something timeless.
Relationships: Suna Rintarou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 28
Kudos: 120





	1. you will burn, and you will burn out

**Author's Note:**

> oh god here it is

When Kei steps out of the gymnasium and into the late afternoon, his warmed-up body instantly meets gross cold breeze. Despite the air pushing against it, sweat clings to him with every step down the entrance stairs. It makes him feel slightly out of place. As if a representation of a hot and a cold, of both what he has left and what he has now stepped into. A culmination of two different realms. 

He checks his phone, where the time reads 6:56 PM. Even after leisurely packing up, saying goodbye to the women at the front desk, and fully experiencing the dichotomy of this sunset air, Suna is late.

He walks to the planters and drops his duffel bag on the ledge. Then, he begins to pace.

He doesn't want to call, just in case Suna is actually driving on his way here. And the security guards are still on their shift. And the sun hasn't fully descended into darkness yet.

He walks back to the planters and finds a boy sitting with his phone out. He looks familiar. It's almost like seeing a phantom of himself, lonely, waiting for Akiteru to come home on the long days he would be working away. Bored out of his 12 year-old mind with nothing but a telescope and some bugs. His head snaps up, and Kei realizes he was staring.

"Sorry," he apologizes.

"That's okay," the boy replies, and pockets his phone.

Kei sits down, and they both look towards the half empty parking lot. He's supposedly an adult now, but he still doesn't know if the route to a child's approval is absolute baby talk or an offered cigarette. So he stays silent. 

A few seconds pass and the boy breaks through it.

"You play for the Jumpers, right?"

"Yes," Kei replies, and pushes his glasses up. "Middle blocker number nineteen."

The added titles come out instinctively. It's less about trying to impress someone and more about reminding himself it's real. He's actually a Division 3 player and he can actually let those syllables spill from his mouth because they're actually true.

"Nice."

"Yeah." 

A beat of silence.

"Are you from here?"

"Nope. I'm from Miyagi."

Four hours away, a city filled with too many of his ghosts. It's become another everyday truth of his being, but for some reason sharing this fact feels even more exciting than explaining his current career. 

"Oh," is the dull response. 

Up at the utility poles, a bird takes flight off the line.

"You ever held a bird before?" The boy asks. 

Kei shakes his head. "Never had to." 

"You're not supposed to," the boy says pointedly. "They fly above us for a reason."

"Because they have wings?" 

"No," the boy shakes his head animatedly, like a children's cartoon show protagonist after asking the viewer a question. "Because their bones are hollow."

Kei raises an eyebrow. "Really?" 

"Yep. That's what makes them so light."

A second bird flutters up. The sky has adopted a red-orange tinge that reminds him of strawberry syrup. He's hungry and Suna is late.

"You know dinosaurs probably had feathers?" He adds, just to keep the momentum going. 

It's immature of him to want to one-up a twelve year old, but he decides nothing's wrong with a bit of fact exchange. 

"That's weird," the boy says, wrinkling his nose. 

"Totally," Kei pushes his hands back into his pockets. "They probably looked more like emus than Godzilla."

The boy repositions himself to face Kei, legs crossed over. "Could they fly?"

"No. The feathers were used to keep them warm."

"Huh."

A few seconds passed before the great glass doors of the gymnasium opened again, and the sound of clopping heels grew closer to where Kei and the boy sat. He turned to look over his shoulder and found a familiar brunette.

"Hello," he stands up to greet her, and she does the same.

"I apologize, I didn't know my son was out here with you or I would have come sooner," she laughs.

It's then that Kei realizes she's one of the desk ladies, the one who checked his ID before practice. 

"No worries," Kei's hands go back in his pockets. "We had a good talk."

At this, the boy nods, suppressing a small smile. She looks relieved, and walks over to grab his wrist and pull him towards her.

"Thank you again," she says, and they disappear, down to the lot and into their car.

Kei's sweat has completely dried now, and he looks up to see all the birds have gone. He pulls his phone out of his pocket again, and sees a missed call from Suna. He lets out a sigh of relief and redials.

He picks up within two rings.

"Tsukishima, where the hell are you?" The voice on the line crackles, and Kei recognizes a whip of wind from the open windows.

"I'm right in front of the building," he picks up his duffel bag and begins walking to the edge of the sidewalk, eyes fanning out over the parking lot.

"Can you see me?" 

He's about to say no when he turns his head left and finds the ever-familiar R8 owned by Mr. Tokyo Boy himself.

It's a heavy gadget of a car, slick black with headlights shaped like the eyes of its driver. It doesn't make much noise, but after a month of riding inside it, Kei's come to recognize the quiet hum of its presence. 

It pulls up to the curb, and Kei presses a button to end the call before looking into the vehicle. 

"You're late."

"Coach kept us in because it's the last day," the man in the driver's seat explains. His head tilts up, eyes sharp. "If you want you can complain to him."

Kei scoffs and turns to the trunk, tapping it twice before Suna gets the hint and opens it up. He tosses his duffel bag there, small and empty against the miles of leather lining, then slams it shut.

"Hey watch it!" Suna yells. Kei ignores him to open the passenger seat and climb in. He pulls the seatbelt strap to click it in with one swift motion, then stares straight ahead despite feeling eyes on him.

"Okay, I'm sorry for making you wait," Suna says. He shifts the gear stick to begin rolling out of the parking lot.

The over-sufficient apology catches Kei off guard, because he nearly sounds like he did when they first started this whole carpool business. When they tiptoed in a primitive state of the unknown, despite spitting the nastiest comebacks to each other on the court years prior. It makes Kei feel resurfaced, as if running back in time. 

"It's fine," he replies, shaking it off. "I got to inspire today's youth."

__________________________

It's a busy Thursday night on the expressway. Kei figures it's the people coming home at 5PM from their normal everyday jobs. Jobs only thirty minutes max away from their apartments. Jobs that didn't involve getting into a luxury sports car with a ex high school rival. Jobs that Kei thought he'd have once. 

They're halfway to Kei's hotel when Suna switches lanes to head to the next exit. He must feel Kei's confusion because he speaks up. 

"Just a stop for gas."

"Fine," Kei replies. He watches as they fly through the highway and down onto the streets.

He's gotten used to the aggressive mode of Suna's driving, and can nearly predict how often he'll accelerate or which intersections he'll turn so abruptly on that Kei can't use his phone without getting motion sick. Suna drives just as impatiently as he plays volleyball. His step on the gas pedal almost always perfectly lines up with the flash of green to signal it.

They pull into the first gas station three blocks down from the exit. Suna shuts off the ignition and reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet and check to make sure he has cash. 

"Can you pump?" He asks. "I want to go buy mints." 

Kei unbuckles himself. "Are you joking?"

"I never joke about oral hygiene," Suna counters, and tosses him a credit card.

Kei groans as a black EJP t-shirt disappears into the mini mart. Scratch the whole running back in time ordeal. In this continuous present, there is nothing but annoyance.

Despite being given Suna's credit card, Kei's ego pushes him to pay for the gas himself. He actually has the funds this week, and it's been a while since he was able to treat Suna to any meal or movie. It's the least he can do.

Suna comes back with a dripping bottle of water and a tin of mints. His shades sit atop his jet black hair and a lanyard hangs out of his Dri-Fit pants. Kei thinks he could still pass as a jerk teenager, if you took him and de-broadened. 

"Mint?" He offers, thrusting the tin can, and Kei winces at the label that indicates cinnamon flavor.

"No."

"Alright, fine."

"Let's just go home."

He walks around the car and falls back into his seat, where the leather has cooled without having a body pressed against it. They pull out of the station and back onto the expressway, where the cars are now scattered and the sky has pulled all the gold away, replacing it with night. 

"Look at the moon," Suna says, glancing up. 

Through the glass and kilometers away, it grins like a silver sickle tonight.

"It looks like the top of Masumune's helmet," Kei says.

"What?"

"The founder of Sendai," Kei replies. "Leader of the Date Clan." 

"Yeah, that helps," Suna quips.

Kei turns to him and frowns. "There's a version of it in a museum at Sendai. He had a crescent moon _maedate_ on his helmet. It was huge and made of wood, so enemies could see it and know it was him."

Suna hums, clearly still confused, but not pressing any further. And Kei, exhausted from the day, turns back onto his side, and greets his namesake hello.

__________________________

Suna drops him off in the loading zone right in front of the hotel entrance. It's completely dark, and there are only a few wandering eyes as he pulls his duffel bag out of the trunk. He doesn't feel ashamed, only comforted to be so close to a bed.

"Hey, Tsukki," calls the voice from the front seat. 

"Yeah?" He closes the truck and walks back up to the sidewalk, where Suna has rolled down the windows again. He's leaning forward, elbow propped up against the steering wheel and eyes low. 

"Take care," he says.

And with that, the windows roll up and the sharp features of a fox-like man are gone. 

Kei glares until the car makes its way out of the drive-through.

Once inside his hotel room, he rushes to turn off the AC and finally peel himself out of his practice clothes. It's only when his shorts drop to the floor does he hear the muffled dropping of plastic. Suna's credit card.

He'll call him tomorrow. It's half-past nine and everyone else in this world is nothing. Kei's itching to take a shower and finally climb into his bed, which isn't technically his, but the collective bed of a million other humans, an absence of belonging that he gets to rest his head onto. It's comforting if he doesn't overthink.

The post-shower dinner is room service fried chicken and the highlights of the Raijins game. His lips curl up at the sight of Suna, in his blue and white jersey, chest puffed up in front of the camera like a helpless peacock, no mate in sight but still ever-conscious of his appearance. 

Kei likes watching highlights of Suna. He secretly likes watching highlights of most of the Division 1 games, though he'd never admit that to Kageyama or Hinata. In the privacy of his hotel room, he enjoys chewing through slightly over-crisped wings and knitting his eyebrows at the particularly good plays.

Suna in everyday life is the human incarnate of a festering wound, the kind that turns into an scab that you end up picking at because you can't wait for it to heal. But Suna's court philosophy has the same intensity of watching a live concert with the lead singer holding a note for an astonishingly long time. Kei shares in the audience's awe when he jumps in front of a particularly tall line of blockers. He keeps everyone wondering if the commitment is worth it, how this can possibly be sustained, just before the note ends and a cross is slammed right through the clear. 

It's those moments of volleyball that keep him hooked. He can't help but idolize his friends in some ways, the way he used to with Akiteru. Division 3 has its perks-- with lower stakes and lower stats to beat, but also the lower salary that Kei could never seem to escape. There was something glamorous about being higher up.

Once Kei is finished and the lights are flipped off, he turns to lie on his side. Through the window he watches the moon shine like an all-knowing grin, a thin slice of teeth. Abstract, adoring, distant. Something that transcends the mortal world he's stuck in. He thanks it for the day he's had, and the day he will have tomorrow, and falls into sleep. 

__________________________

  
  


Akiteru lives life as if he could paint a donkey with black and white stripes, call it a zebra, and no one would care. As if Pompeii could be solved by holding hands and singing kumbaya and ignoring the fact that they are seconds before the onslaught of a volcanic eruption. After twenty-two years, it gets a little tiring to be lectured by an older brother who still believes that Jedi knights are superior. 

Kei presses his head against his shoulder to hold the cell phone in place. He's cradling 100 yen coins in his left hand, and plucking a white sock out from the colored fabric pile with his right. It was his first day of the week-long vacation and he decided to take the time to walk down to the laundromat and indulge himself in a completely fresh wardrobe. Except now the washer rinse cycle has become a third party in a lecture he's heard too many times. 

"Kei, you know there's nothing wrong with going to a desk job," the voice on the line insists. "It's a very respectable line of work."

"I don't want a desk job," he counters, turning a shirt inside out. 

"There's lots of openings at the medicine company across from us. You could do something with research," his brother continues.

"I don't like chemistry." The washing machine sputters, and switches to tumbling mode. 

"Well, you can work with the mechanics of new tech. It'd be like living in a science fiction movie."

"Akiteru," he sighs. "I'm not thirteen anymore."

"Well, if you want my opinion-–"

"I don't," Kei snapped. "I have my own." 

He hears his brother swallow. "Just because you don't talk about it doesn't mean I don't notice."

"Notice what?" He demands.

"It just seems like you aren't happy."

"I _am_ happy," he tries with all the patience of a pregnant Padmé. "I like playing volleyball."

"I know you do," Akiteru insists, "but sometimes you talk to me like you're a high schooler trying to convince their college counselor they're picking the right choice."

He shoves the coins into his pocket, shoulders curling into himself. 

"I know I made the right choice." 

"You don't even sound convincing."

His brother laughs humorlessly, and it sets fire to the carefully orchestrated patience inside him. 

"I know I made the right choice," he still repeats. "It's just sometimes I like to add new plans."

The washer sputters again and begins spinning the other way.

"Add… new plans?"

"Yeah," Kei glares at an unidentifiable stain on the linoleum floor. "My new plan is to go crazy." 

He hangs up without waiting to hear a response, or an undignified sound of confusion, and goes back to his coins. He flips one over to check the mintage date, despite feeling guilt at the metaphorical water washing off his monochromatic zebra stripes. Even after everything, he is still an ass. 

__________________________

Suna stops by at noon to pick up the credit card. He doesn't call or text beforehand, but Kei knows it is him by the three evenly spaced knocks on the hotel door. When he presses an eye to the glass, he's met with the familiar spread of shoulders. 

"Hey," he greets.

"Hi," Suna responds, walking inside and closing the door behind him with one hand.

"Sorry I forgot to give it back yesterday."

Suna switches hands from behind his back to wave the other one in dismissal. "It's fine. I should have remembered to ask for it back."

Kei leans forward to peek at what he's hiding, but he twists his torso in a quick reflex to preserve the secrecy. 

"What are you trying to see?" He taunts.

"I want to know what weapon you chose to murder me with." 

At this, Suna smirks, almost a sense of excitement at the notion. 

"Close your eyes," he demands.

"But what if it's a cool sword?" 

"It's not," Suna promises. "It's a butterknife."

Kei plays along, expression still blank. "And how is that going to pierce my abdomen?"

"Tsukishima, just close your eyes."

He obeys, shutting them. A few feet away, he can make out the sound of cartons being placed on the table. And then, muffled carpet footsteps. A drawer opening and the clinking of silverware. Footsteps back. The silverware being placed upon the table.

"Okay," Suna says once it is quiet again. "You can open them." 

When his eyelids flutter open, he is met with two take-out boxes of katsudon, an iced coffee, and one generous slice of strawberry cheesecake. Kei's eyes widen, and he feels like he has just been transported into an alternate universe, a complete 180 from this morning's painfully expected events.

"What's all this for?"

"For making you wait yesterday," Suna explains. 

Kei looks up at the other man and squints until he can almost make out a light pink tint at the top of his ears.

"Are you buttering me up?" He asks, hesitant at the sudden gift. 

"No," Suna shakes his head. "I swear."

"Alright." He goes to sit down, and quietly gives thanks for the meal before digging in. "You're being uncharacteristically nice lately."

"You're just shocked because I have personality traits other than being a jerk," Suna counters, leaning back in the chair across. "Hurry up and get on my level already."

Kei is about to point out that Suna just admitted to being a jerk, but instead opts to roll his eyes. They eat in silence, with only the occasional content hum to break through, and once they finish and move onto desert, he already feels satisfied and warm. 

"Thank you," he says again.

Suna nods, then looks up to face him. "I actually have something I want to ask."

Ah, the catch. 

"What is it?"

"I'm driving to Sendai tomorrow," he states. 

Kei stills. 

"What? Why?"

Suna didn't need to be in Sendai. Suna didn't need to be anywhere in Miyagi, for that matter. 

"I'm meeting a family friend," he brings a hand up to rub at the nape of his neck. "My mom's hoping I can bring back some music equipment that she loaned to him a few months ago." 

"Oh," Kei replies, pushing the carton box away from him. Suna takes it, grips it with both fingers. 

"And I was wondering if you wanted to come?"

A small breath escapes him. 

Going back to Sendai. It sounds as tempting as turning off an engine mid-flight. 

"What makes you think I want to go?"

"The way your eyes are looking right now, for one," Suna says, dangling his fork. "Also the fact that I know that your brother probably wants to see you." He scoops a piece of cheesecake. "And because I'm literally going to your hometown and will be completely lost without you." Cue batting eyelashes. A bite.

Kei's glare hardens. He's pretty sure his eyebrow creases are forever now.

"How long are you gonna be staying there?"

"Just one night," Suna chews.

Kei can instantly think of at least seventeen things he can do during a day with no car, a day with no Suna. But he also can't shake off the offer tugging at something inside him. This weird, abstract desire to attend to abandoned ghosts, to visit that concept of home he keeps denying of the luxury to miss.

He hasn't been back in Sendai for months. Even his week-long vacations like this were spent taking the train around Tokyo, carefully carving himself in _this_ city. It was one thing to imagine the days spent in the backyard basking in the figure of Akiteru playing basketball, or to picture himself walking across Karasuno with his fraying headphones, Tadashi beside him like a guardian angel. It was one thing to speak about Hyogo as if it were a faraway land, a part of his Before. It was another thing to jump back into that past life, to engage in a return. 

"I'll come with you."

"Really?" Suna sounds shocked, even if his face doesn't portray it. Kei feels the same way.

"Yeah," he nods, just to make it feel real. "You can drop me off at my parents' house when we get there."

Suna puts his fork down. He's finished the cheesecake, and is now collecting the empty boxes to be trashed. 

"Great. That's- this is great, Tsukki."

Kei nods, but his heart feels like it's going 150 kph. Suna is dumping all the cartons out in the hallway trash can and saying his goodbyes, and all Kei can do is tell himself it won't be any different than driving home from the gymnasium. But it's pointless. He can't trick his brain. The bottom line is no matter how he frames it he's signing himself up to be ripped apart. 


	2. you will be healed and come back again

Suna agrees to pick him up at 7:30 AM on the dot. A mild breeze lifts the lighter tufts of Kei's hair when he steps out of the hotel building. He spent all of yesterday overthinking, but he's decided not to dwell on it any longer. Today he will swallow the light whole. If there are any gods out there, he's going to make them cry. 

He walks out onto the loading zone and his jaw nearly drops at the sight of a light blue Toyota pick-up truck. 

"Morning," Suna says, rolling down the window. He's got a cap on.

"What is _this_?" 

"My truck," he replies, as if the hunk of metal is a normal occurrence. As if they hadn't spent the last three weeks together slouching in luxury leather.

"Why have I never seen it before?" Kei presses a hand to the mystical ancient creature. It's only got a few paint scratches on it and smells like kitchen lemon. 

"It's been in my grandma's garage," he shrugs, and pushes the passenger seat down so Kei can load his stuff. 

When he climbs in, he finds two silver suitcases and a leather backpack already there. 

"I thought you were only staying for a night?"

Kei pushes everything aside to make space for his small carry on. 

"I am," Suna insists. "One has all my toiletries."

He groans and pulls the chair back up. 

The worn upholstery cushion feels like sitting on an old futon. 

"Alright, ready?" 

Kei notices the time on the dashboard clock is wrong. Past that, however, is a sea of promising blue, all the way to a city four hours away.

"Yeah," he nods. "Ready."

________________________

  
  


If he thought riding shotgun in the R8 was bad, a stick shift pickup was even worse. They pull off the expressway and into Tochigi, and Suna makes a great show in depressing the clutch, shifting, releasing, and steering into the next street.

"Why the detour?" Kei asks, flicking the loose glove box so it will stop rattling.

"Scenic point."

"Huh?"

"Just a pitstop. Plus my arms are getting sore. I want to stretch them."

They pull into the parking lot of a commercial center, one with cheap stationary stores and an inconspicuous tea shop. Suna hops out of the driver's seat and instantly begins stretching, arms sprawled out in his peacock pose. Kei walks out as well, looking up at the little industrial soldiers of buildings. 

"Meet back in ten?" Suna asks.

Kei nods, and goes to find the nearest restroom.

When he returns, Suna has two iced coffees and a bag of pastries on Kei's seat. He seems to be staring up at the telephone pole, gaze unwavering. 

"Don't hurt yourself," Kei says, and rummages through the bag to pull out a chocolate croissant. 

"Huh?" He seems to snap out of it. "I'm not."

Silence, save for the sound of bread being torn.

"I feel like you're plotting an escape right now," Kei tries again. 

"No, I'm just," He shakes his head. "While you were gone this bird almost fell off the line. It looked like it was actually going to drop."

"Oh," Kei says.

"I was going to go run out there, but..." His voice trails off. 

The situation is eerily familiar. Kei pushes his glasses up and puts the pastry's plastic bag onto his lip. 

"Well, I'm sure it'll be fine. Bird bones are hollow. Keeps them light."

For some reason, Suna is not comforted by this.

"Still," he goes on. "That just means it'd be even worse if it had hit the ground." 

Kei just stares. It's strange-- the overconcern again. He wants to gut the air.

"Have you ever held one before?"

Suna must notice the change in tone, because he cocks his head in confusion. Some days it makes him look like a cartoon character. Like the deuteragonist of a shonen manga, with the sly plans and witty comebacks. Today, he looks like the face of some old youth. 

"Why would I ever want to hold a bird?"

Chocolate coats Kei's throat like dish soap residue.

"I don't know," he admits. "It just sounds kind of cool."

Suna says nothing. Just turns the keys for the ignition to sputter alive. They pull out of the lot and onto the freeway again. 

________________________

Their energy picks up down the line, when the sugar finally kicks in and Suna is past the point of trying to show off his driving skills. Both the radio volume and the windows have been brought down to allow for the flow of conversation, and they have spent the past ten minutes arguing about the details of a hypothetical Schweidan Alders vs. MSBY Black Jackals match. 

"I just can't imagine anyone on that team being a blocker," Kei snorts. "Even with Hinata's superhuman Brazilian blowout body, it still couldn't compare to Ushijima's height."

"I'm telling you," Suna says, lazily keeping the steering wheel steady. "They wouldn't need any blockers."

"How do you know that?"

He puts a hand up to wiggle his fingers. "They'd have Sakusa and his freaky wrists to receive everything."

"So you're saying Sakusa would receive every hit."

"No, just think about it-- they've already got Bokuto's cross and the freak quick. They don't need another ace."

Kei considers it for a moment.

"That depends if Miya and Hinata actually have that freak quick in the bag."

"Oh they _definitely_ do," Suna replies, and Kei nearly vomits.

"Can you never use that tone ever again?" He adjusts his glasses with both hands, hoping it covers any embarrassing expression his face is displaying.

"What? Too much?" Suna jests, leaning against the open window.

Kei shakes his head. "Just weird to think about." 

It wasn't that he wasn't oblivious to all the relationships in the league. He just didn't care for the romance between everyone. It seemed excessive to the sport, like added baggage that could be carried onto the court. He could never imagine playing against someone he loved, staring them down through a iron-threaded net. It felt wrong. 

Suna laughs before he speaks again. 

"Hey, can I make another stop before I drop you off?" 

Kei sighs. "What now?"

"I just realized I don't have mints in this truck." 

________________________

They eventually park at a gas station that he actually recognizes at Shiroishi. Once Suna goes inside the mart, Kei decides to check his phone for the first time since he left. There are two missed calls from Akiteru. He nearly drops the screen with excitement. He had forgotten to tell his brother anything. His first instinct tugs to tell the good news- that they'll actually be able to see each other in less than an hour. But he fights it. He wants it to be a good surprise after all. 

He clears his throat before calling back, and the line picks up within three rings.

"Akiteru?"

"Kei? I've been trying to call you all day," he sounds slightly out of breath. 

"Yeah sorry," he places his hand on the glovebox again, taps a finger against it anxiously. "I've been busy."

"On your second day off?"

"Well, I've been in the car since this morning. I'm with Suna right now."

"Raijins Suna?"

"Yeah." He looks up at the Buy Two Get One FREE sign for takoyaki. "He needs my help moving some music equipment from a family friend so we're driving there." 

"Where is _there_?"

He pauses. Thinks. "Shizuoka." Brace for impact. 

"What the hell?" His brother's voice raises. 

"He needs my help and I owe him."

"So you're in debt and wasting your own time."

Kei adjusts himself in the seat, where sweat has begun to accumulate between him and his shirt and the chair upholstery.

"'I'm not in debt. And it's not a waste of time." 

Akiteru scoffs, "You were the one saying you weren't thirteen anymore. Here you are going on a spring break road trip."

"That doesn't even make sense-"

"God knows what money you even have. Please tell me there's not some sort of thing between you and him."

"It's nothing like that." He sits up now.

His brother goes silent. Kei thinks an apology is about to come out, but instead--

"You hung up on me yesterday."

Right.

"I was busy."

"At the coin laundry?"

"Yes."

"Did you have to help the laundromat owner move a washer?"

He's over this conversation. 

"You know just because you make birthday cards now doesn't mean you have the right to be a jerk."

"Well just because you finally got a tiny crumb of volleyball success doesn't mean you get to be one either," he spits back. "God, it's like you actually want to set yourself on fire."

"Maybe I do."

"Fine."

He opens his mouth to respond with something doubly cruel, and then stops. They've hurt each other enough for one day, so all he says is, "I'll call you later, nii-san."

"Good-bye, Kei."

He disconnects. Somewhere inside the mart, he hears loose change fall. The clatter of hundreds of dense yen as Pompeii erupts, and then a united, devastated shout of grief.

__________________________

When Suna comes back, Kei knows he senses something is wrong immediately. 

He's curled up on his side, staring out at the side-view mirror. His glasses have been taken off, and they lay tilted in the cupholder. No crying, but the weird culmination of too many feelings and the acidic smell of lemon fresh makes for something strange still trying to climb its way out from his throat. 

A chronic nausea of how frighteningly vulnerable he must look right now, ridden with grief that keeps reaching for something no longer there. Out of the corner of his eye he watches the body gingerly climb in, shut the door, lock the car, and then let out a small exhale.

Suna doesn't ask any questions. Whether because he doesn't care or because he doesn't want to see actual tears, Kei doesn't know. But he takes his stupid cap off and unfurls his fingers to show a shiny tin can of cinnamon mints, the swirly logo an unexpected peace offering. 

Kei stretches himself out to the actual size of a human and plants his feet firmly against the rubber mat. He reaches for his glasses to put them back on, then takes the holy grail tin can into his hands.

The mint feels heavier than he thought. Larger than a ibuprofen pill, and icky like dried toothpaste. 

It tumbles in his mouth, dissolves and dissolves until the only evidence of its existence is a stinging on his tongue.

And with Kei's mouth in flames, he remembers they're almost home. 

__________________________

Thirty minutes into Sendai and it's 2PM now. The sun has come out to bid them welcome, and everything is drenched in light. He swallows it whole. 

With each turn, Kei feels he's uncovering a patchwork of his childhood, coaxing his past life into fruition. They pass by the Sendai City Gymnasium and it winks at him like an old friend. He sends it a small prayer. For what he feels moving through and with him. For what he can never forget. The cries of a 2011 loss and a 2012 victory. The three years of dripping sweat and clenched fists and bandaged fingers and sneakers on linoleum. For what he could never rid himself from, even if he tried. 

"What's that on the side?" Suna asks, looking out. 

Above the directory is a large green banner. Kei squints.

"Home of the Sendai Frogs," he reads. He leans into his seat, taken aback. "They're a Division 2 team."

"Really?" Suna turns back to the road. 

"Yeah," Kei says, but it comes out more in awe than he anticipated. 

Suna hums, and it sounds way too knowing.

They continue driving past until the building becomes smaller and smaller in the sideview mirror.

And then, instead of taking the route home, Suna flips on his turn signal to pull onto a street Kei has seen at least a thousand times. 

"Where are we going now?" 

"Just one last stop I promise," Suna replies, turning. 

"Okay, but that didn't answer my question."

He sighs as if this conversation is the most difficult thing he's ever done.

Kei looks out the window, where a concrete stone building sits with three flag poles lined up like stitches. 

There's a sculpture that greets him, of bodies climbing up a cascade of falling rocks. They stay suspended in midair, trying desperately to get to the top. It's the same statue he has seen since he was five. 

They're pulling into the parking lot of Sendai City Museum. 

Suna must notice how Kei's gone crazy in shock because he finally speaks. 

"I wanted us to visit before I drop you off." 

__________________________

Walking past the ticket purchase booth, Kei tries to mask his excitement and tone it down to mirror Suna's ease instead. But as they walk over to the first display case featuring tapestry from the Edo period, he's heedlessly optimistic. 

"You know they have over seventy-five thousand items here?" Kei asks, voice high.

"Says so in the brochure," Suna replies, flipping through the handout.

These old artifacts fill Kei with a sharp, euphoric hope. Being in this city now, grasping its size and scope-- this is the living history, culmination of all these inanimate objects. 

"Screw the brochure," he says, plucking it out of Suna's hands. "Come here, I'll show you." 

They go through the early Edo period and eventually reach an old favorite spot of Kei's -- the portrait of Hasekura Tsunenaga and his certificate of Roman citizenship. 

"He looks like he's wearing the first Hawaiian shirt prototype," Suna says, arms folded over his chest as if it were some abstract modern art, and not a hyper realistic Baroque painting. 

"He was a samurai," Kei replies. "The first Japanese ambassador in the Americas."

"Ah," Suna replies, and stares again. "He kinda looks like he would smell like pistachios." 

Kei shakes his head in disdain, trying to fight the smile that wants to appear. For some reason, being here has brought back this strange surge of… competitiveness, he thinks. Something where he can't help but want to impress Suna again. 

Kei continues. "He sailed from here to Europe to America to Manila and then back in the seventeenth century. It took him seven years." 

"Okay," Suna nods. "But could he block a cross shot?"

"From you? Of course," he retorts. "He'd leave all the straights open until you'd go insane." 

This makes Suna uncross his arms and almost, almost smile. "Ah, there he is."

"Who?" 

"Tsukishima Kei," he replies, matter-of-factly. "Was beginning to think I lost him on the ride here."

He continues walking down the exhibit, and Kei can only follow, slightly dumbstruck. 

It's only when they reach Masamune's jet-black suit of armor does he feel a tug of deja vu. Today the suit displayed is only the replica, yet its detailing of the black lacquer and iron edging neck guard still pose a striking resemblance to the original. In fact, it even draws less attention to the object and instead places more emphasis on the owner and the craftsmanship itself.

Kei's eyes follow up to the top of its peach-shaped bowl helmet, where a wooden _maedate_ sits. It smiles, a wide set grin, this crescent moon. 

He turns to look Suna right in the eyes. 

"Did you… remember what I said?"

"Remember what?" Suna says, still attempting to feign ignorance. "You know I don't listen to you much."

"When I. Mentioned. This helmet." Kei announces each syllable. 

At this, Suna's hands find their way to his pockets. He's still wearing those stupid Dri-fit joggers. 

"Of course I remembered," he says, and it sounds like ending the search for something safe.

"Why?" 

"Kei," he says with finality. "I think you should stay and work here." 

His eyes widen, and Suna smiles (a real genuine one, with all his teeth and eyes crinkling at the sides) for the very first time today. Kei can't help but mirror it.

__________________________

  
  


After speaking with the lady at the front desk to inquire for job applications, he soon finds out one of the co-managers is a huge volleyball fan. Her daughter played on the girls team at Seijoh and had spoken highly of Karasuno. It's a small world, he supposes, and finds it flattering that she nearly hires him on the spot. Instead, however, she gifts him all the paperwork in a manila folder, and assures him they will meet soon. 

Kei's about to walk out of her office and out into the parking lot again when something in his stomach tickles, the way it did when he saw Masamune's helmet. He turns around once more.

"Um, Yukimura-sama," he starts. "One more thing."

"Yes, Tsukishima-san, what else can I help you with?" 

He looks behind her, at the photo of a group of girls in white and teal uniforms, lined up against a gymnasium wall. 

"Do you happen to have any information on the Sendai Frogs?"

__________________________

  
  


He meets Suna back into the car and Kei can't help but feel like he's living a new life. He's holding the manila folder to his chest, a religious text. Like whatever he will find between those pages will mean something for years and years to come. He's been on a high for the past five hours and he doesn't want to crash. 

"Went well?" Suna asks.

"Yup," he nods. "It did."

"Do you want to stop for food?"

"No," Kei replies.

"Alright," Suna puts the key in. 

"Wait-" Kei reaches up and catches his wrist before he can turn it. Suna looks up at him, eyes wide. A strand of hair falls between his part.

Kei closes his eyes and wishes people could read minds, just this once. Just this once.

The darkness behind his eyelids make it impossible to tell who moves in and closes the final centimeters. All he knows is their lips meet in a kiss. 

Suna tastes like iced coffee and those damn cinnamon mints, a whiff of jasmine from his neck. His hand, keyless, comes up to cup Kei's cheek, calloused fingertips pressing against the skin there.

It only lasts a good five seconds. Up until Kei realizes they are still in the parking lot of the museum from his childhood at 7PM. He pulls away quickly, the soft warmth of lips leaving lips. Suna retracts his hand back to his own lap.

"Kei-" He whispers, but his voice is rough. He's staring straight over the dashboard. Kei wills himself to speak.

"Don't take me to my parents yet."

"Okay," he nods. "Okay." 

Their chests rise and fall in succession, quick and sudden, unsure of what to do with themselves. It's the first time in their three weeks together that a drive to a hotel is taken in complete silence.

__________________________

They order room service. Kei doesn't even remember what he pointed at, just that at some point he's no longer hungry for anything edible. The blast of AC made him crave Suna's warmth even more, and eventually the manila folder, his glasses, and his phone get tossed on the nightstand. His monkeybrain takes over.

Suna leans into him, making him stagger, and they stumble backwards into the bedframe. Cotton presses against his knuckles. Suna's breath lands right next to his ear, and it drives him crazy.

"Kei," he whispers again for the second time today.

"What?" He tries to fight back, but _vulpes vulpes_ eyes are on him and he dissolves into nothing but prey. 

"Close your eyes."

This time, he does.

Quick and meticulous, the way he always is, Suna lands right at the juncture between Kei's jaw and neck. He kisses his way down Kei's throat, doesn't pay any mind to the way it must be vibrating against his lips. He leaves a wet trail down the skin, marks Kei with animalistic need. When he pulls away, his eyes are obsidian dark. 

"Are you okay?" He breathes. "I didn't kill you right?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Kei nods his head.

"Good."

"My turn with the butterknife?"

Suna presses a chaste kiss to his lips. "Yeah."

Kei flips them over and strokes strands of Suna's hair back, out of his eyes and off his forehead. His own kisses are tender and earnest at first, mindful of their own newness. He's learning as he goes, guided by some unknown instinct. Hands find hands and their fingers interlace. Suna gently squeezes his bottom lip between his teeth and then releases it. 

Pressing him against the mattress, he clutches at Suna's hipbone, his neck. Their hesitation begins to vanish, and is soon replaced by some strident insistence. He knows by the way Suna's finger's dig into his shoulders, the way his hands suddenly want to trace the muscles that run the length of his arm. Some deeply buried fantasy now unearthing itself, and Suna groans, a brand new Suna sound he's never heard before. 

"Rin," he gasps softly.

"Shut up," is the response. A light pink dusts his cheeks. 

"Don't tell me to shut up," Kei replies. Suna leans his head forward, attacking the neck once again. 

"But you love it when I do."

__________________________

  
  


He wakes up in the middle of the night, but it's not out of fear. There is no nightmare that leaves him sweating out of his peel. There is only the blast of AC and the sound of snoring. He turns to look at the man beside him, the one who has been beside him all day, and something stirs in his chest again. 

Kei slowly makes his way up from the bed and walks over to the sliding door. When he pulls the curtains back, the window reveals a sky swelled into a tough abyss. He can see the late night passing cars at this hour, reminding him that his land is alive the way he is. It's survived many ages. And it breathes in the culmination of all of them. 

He checks his phone, which tells him it is now 2AM. He has three unread messages from his brother, and his eyes widen with a glance. 

The first one reads: _Kei, I'm sorry. I know it's easy to write messages of sympathy in a card, but sometimes even written words fail me. Just know you constantly amaze me. You know more than I ever will. I miss you so much and I hope you're okay. Tell Suna I said hi._

The second one is a mere: _I went to the storage today and I found this. Maybe your next trip can be coming back home before the strawberry moon._

The third one is a picture of a telescope. The one they used to set up in the backyard right before an eclipse, complete with their own homemade lenses to look through. It looks massive in the picture, even though Kei remembers its legs only reaching his 15 year-old waist.

He goes through three cycles of pressing keys with his thumb and then backspacing before he decides to agree with his brother. Written words fail. He wants something tangible. An artifact that he came here. That he is here. 

He points his camera up at the window, where the Sendai nightlife is teeming, the horizon transfigured, and the lights slash due to his own terrible astigmatism. He makes sure to send an image that encapsulates it all. Where his namesake shines and shines. It all might as well be a heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> i tweeted that i planned to grow the sunatsuki tag into double digits, and what followed was a straight 48 hour period of me just typing typing typing and also crying because these two are such a GOOD pairing and deserve the world.


End file.
